Not A Hero
by FiresFromOurHearts
Summary: Harry Potter may step away from the crowd of Gryffindors and do his best to be a hero, to do his best so that good can occur. He is called a hero, whether he wishes to be one or not. Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, is a Slytherin and will never be called a hero. But he steps forward within the Slytherin Common Room and says Voldemort lies. Who will deny Slytherin their own lives?
1. Chapter 1

_**This will not have a regular update schedule and will probably be all over the place, since I'm writing it slowly currently. Chapters will sit around the 5000 word mark and will have different sections and so forth. I hope you enjoy.**_

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Elbow resting on the table, face resting placidly in his palm, and fingers framing his face, Blaise Zabini looks the perfect picture of Pureblood poise, just casual enough that it doesn't look like he's trying. It cannot be denied that he has the appearance of a noble, picturesque down to the arrogant uptilt of his head and half-closed eyes. Arrogant and composed are two words that suit the Slytherin extremely well according to the majority of the population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_(when three-fourths of a school see you as evil, why not pander to their expectations?)_

A change appears to overcome the Great Hall as everyone rises, faces turning to those around them, mouths opening as numerous students attempts to make themselves heard over the din. Around Blaise, Slytherin rises from their seats, and he with them. Already the new fifth-year Prefects are gathering their respective first-years, the majority of which seem close to tears. Even knowing that Slytherin had been what he wanted, Blaise can recall being the same during his sorting. Three-quarters of the schooling booing you tends to do that. He's gotten used to that. Like he and all the other Slytherins, the first-years will soon learn.

"Follow us, please," Pansy Parkinson calls, voice quietening the Slytherins as the older ones shepherd the first-years into a small group. The other houses are almost out of the Great Hall; the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors leading their proud way through the main doors, the Hufflepuffs unordered chaos on the opposite side of the room.

Still, little attention is paid to them, and Blaise turns his focus onto his house. Draco Malfoy, pale and thin, takes the first few steps out of the Great Hall, the first-years two neat lines trailing behind him. Other Slytherins slip in front and behind the group. The seventh-years, the eldest and the strongest of the Slytherins, pave the way, even though – technically – it is Draco and Pansy who lead the first-years. Meanwhile, the second to fourth-years mill around the group of first years, leaving the rest of the house to claim a position at the back of the pack. The most dangerous position. Blaise, close to the very back but not too close, can already feel panic crawling up his neck and arms; his fingers itch for his wand.

Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass walk on either side of him, offering smiles that would look happy to anyone but those who know them. Not a single member of their trio feels happy, who would? The Slytherins move together in a system that protects their weaker members, in the middle, from others. There's usually no trouble from other houses, hasn't been in years.

_(one year, though. one year changed it for them all. the marches started after that year.) _

In this moment, there is no room for conversation. Dark skin and silence, Blaise keeps his head arrogantly tilted upwards. A sidestep from him, Tracey keeps her own head straight, eyes scanning the walls, watching for nothing, watching for everything. Two steps on her right walks Daphne, a wry twist to her smile; stunning beauty, a snake hidden by shimmering scales waiting for prey to come to her.

In this moment, all they have is the quiet, the echo of footsteps as the Slytherin House marches onward, keeping their silent vigil for enemies. The soft shuffling and brushing of robes are sounds easy to ignore, the portraits – not so much.

Blaise remembers little of his march in his first year at Hogwarts. He can easily recall the disgust other students held for him, his own clumsy fingers as he tried to maintain his grace in front of everyone. It's easy to feel the burning hate he felt back then, the wrath and anger that curls around his bones even now. Such emotions make it easy for Blaise to imagine turning his back on the society that does this to children, and – even now, years later – such fantasies make Blaise smile, amused. After all, society very much got what it deserved.

Not the Slytherins, though. No, never them.

They're close to the dungeons now; the number of portraits is decreasing. Blaise is thankful for it. Although portraits often turn their faces away, never bothering to look, too busy gossiping with their neighbours, it still makes him wish to bring out his wand and hex the portraits.

_(hogwarts is meant to be the safest place on earth. it is not, for the danger inside is just as deadly as the danger outside. one just impacts what people care about and the other doesn't.) _

"Curse them!" A voice shouts, angry and vengeful. Blaise walks past Elizabeth Burke's portrait without glancing at it. "Destroy them all, my Slytherins! Hex every one of them. Kill them for what they've done to me, what they've done to us all."

Her voice is quick to fade into the distance, the sound containment spell holding after years and years. It's always been there, as far as Blaise knows. Then again, Burke's portrait has always shouted and cursed too. He wonders, briefly, if she had always been like that or if her anger has twisted her into something else, someone else.

_(they all end up like this; shouting themselves hoarse and carrying hate with them like it is all they know.)_

Finally, the Slytherins come to a stop, grouping around a seemingly blank part of the wall. Hidden beyond the wall, behind the wall, Blaise knows, lies the Slytherin Dungeons in all their beauty. "Behind these stone bricks," Draco says coolly, drawing the words out and lingering on his vowels, "are the Slytherin Dungeons, which will be your home for the next seven years. Although, the wall here seems unmarred, it is not – to a Slytherin's well-trained eye."

"Look along the bottom of the wall here," Pansy directs, wand tip glowing as she rests it above the snake carved into the bottom of the wall. "This snake trails along the bottom of the doorway. It may appear faint, but it is there nonetheless. They say Slytherin himself charmed the snake to not allow enemies into the rooms. We've never had enemies enter, so I suppose such claims must be true."

The first-years shift their weight, observing around them, looking at the looming older Slytherins behind and around them, glancing at Pansy and Draco who wait in dark robes, polished badges resting on their chests.

Having decided that the pause has stretched for long enough, Draco speaks once again. "The snake shows where the door is, but entering it is up to you. There is a password that changes on a fortnightly basis, so one must keep an eye on the central bulletin board in the common room." A huffed sigh, barely audible, and Blaise shifts his weight to his heels, wondering when the new Prefects are going to let everyone enter. The whole of Slytherin waits in the dark hallway, having let the fifth-year Prefects explain everything, letting them prove that they deserve to be Prefects, letting the first-years take note of the power dynamics already at play.

"The password, currently," Pansy announces, a careful flick of her hand and the tip of her wand goes dark, "is aconite!"

Upon the password being spoken, the snake wriggles and disappears into the brickwork. In front of everyone's eyes, the brickwork peals back, the bricks turning sideways and – quickly – a hole in the wall forms and grows wider.

"It's just like Diagon Alley!" One first year declares excitedly, voice loud in comparison to the grinding of stones.

Leaning forward, Pansy smiles. "Where do you think they stole the idea from?" She stands upright, and steps into the common room, Draco at her side. The first-years hurriedly follow, looking about and tripping over themselves and each other. Tracey stifles laughter, and Blaise rolls his eyes. As first-years, neither of them had been any better.

Entering the Slytherin Dungeons feels like returning home to somewhere safe. Around him, Blaise can see the other Slytherins relaxing, shoulders lowering, muscles losing their tense posture, wands hidden once more.

_(it is easy to hate what they have been reduced to. they are feared and so they are attacked, they are fearful because they know what they are seen as.) _

Professor Snape, clad in black robes, peers down at them from his position in the middle of the room. As always, the man looms over everyone, dark eyes narrowed at the first-years, who quickly silence themselves beneath his steady gaze. Once again, Blaise finds himself disgusted by the man's greasy hair as is the norm, but he notices the dark circles beneath Professor Snape's eyes and finds himself ignoring his disgust.

They are all judged, on appearance, on intelligence. Their words are judged and so is their body language. Professor Snape has only strived to make himself remarkable in terms of intelligence, and disgraces the Slytherins by doing so. Nonetheless, it must take a certain bit of courage to ignore the emphasis people place on their appearance. He thinks that the Professor would hate being linked to courage. It makes him smile.

_(you give what you get, snape should know that. he doesn't.) _

"Greetings," Professor Snape drawls, words soft, causing everyone to lean forward to hear him. It's an effective method of ensuring he has everyone's attention, along with his intimidation factor. Blaise would applause Professor Snape if he didn't dislike the wizard so much. "I am pleased to see everyone has made it here today, and in one piece." He wonders if Professor Snape had been in Slytherin that one year before the marches began.

"For those of you who are new, I am Professor Snape, Head of the Slytherin House. I expect all of you to do you very best, earning points, not losing them. You reflect all of Slytherin and I expect all Slytherins, even you older ones, to be doing your very best this year, like every other year. Professor Umbridge, although new, is to be respected like how each of you respect your own peers. Any other announcements will be up on the bulletin board. The same rules apply from last year, if you need a meeting with me, you must set up a meeting. I do not have time for idle chats, and neither should most of you. Enjoy your evening."

"That was… something," Tracey says softly. "He's setting us all on Professor Umbridge, on influencing the Ministry."

Humming in agreement, Blaise looks around. "It could be helpful for those who want an in into the Ministry of Magic," he points out, also keeping a low tone.

"Are we not going to mention the fact he just left us to deal with all the first-years?" Daphne asks, annoyance clear in her clipped words. "I don't want to deal with that!"

Shaking his head, Blaise tilts his head in the direction of the first-years, who are now being moved by the older Prefects to their new dormitories. With a hand covering her mouth, Tracey laughs. Although the three of them remain content in the common room, some Slytherins are retiring to their own dormitories, whilst others find friends and group together to talk.

"I don't know how the other houses survive," Tracey says, a moment after her laughter drains away. "They don't have a common room like ours."

"Agreed," Blaise replies as a yawn cuts him short. "That said, I suppose it looks fairly uninviting at first, especially at this time of night."

The trio pause, studying the common room, trying to perceive it from another perspective. Due to the sun having set some time ago, there's no light entering the lake windows. The dark and shadowy appearance of the lake makes Blaise uncertain, even though he knows that there isn't anything in the lake that would harm him from while he remains inside.

_(ironic, perhaps, that he fears what could hide in the shadows, in the darkness, in what he – as a slytherin – is meant to be hiding in.)_

Thankfully, the darkness of the lake is contrasted by the bright glass balls – containing lumos charms – steadily floating by the ceiling of the room. Blinking quickly to get rid of the spots decorating his vision, Blaise continues to study the room. How could someone not like it? The tapestries and portraits of famous Slytherins hang off most of the walls throughout the Slytherin Dungeons, not just the common room. Some talk and move, whilst others don't. They're welcoming, unlike the portraits outside the Slytherin Dungeons, unlike any of the other portraits in Hogwarts.

"Still don't see it," Tracey murmurs. "Does it look pretentious and rich? Is that the problem here?" They all know it isn't the issue, but they continue to look around as if that is the answer they're looking for.

Small mahogany tables with dark green furnishings blend in with the green sofas and dark wooden cupboards, which apparently can't be opened by magic or by hand. Sprinkled about the room are small, oak tables with chessboards, high-backed armchairs at either side. Naturally, they are also green. Relatively close by, the fireplace contains its never dying, roaring fire. The two lounges look comfortable, and Blaise knows they are very comfortable, and so are the pillows on the ground in front of the fire.

"It's a bit dark, I suppose," Daphne says slowly, "but it's rather warm and safe, comforting. Don't you agree?"

"For sure," Blaise replies. With a shake of his head, he breaks them away from the topic, knowing that going further will only take them closer to the truth they are all loathe to admit. "Do tell me, though, what's been going on in the wizarding world? I was away for the latter half of the holidays, and the Daily Prophet continues to be outrageously stupid and refuses to deliver itself overseas. We all know how closed off the United Kingdom is."

Daphne grins, wicked sharp, and leans partway across the table separating them. "There's so much," she says, eager to share her knowledge.

"You definitely missed some of the major events of this year," Tracey says, backing Daphne up. "The most major event of the year is, of course, Harry Potter's trial."

"He went on trial?" Blaise responds, shocked. He leans closer, arms uncrossing themselves. "Do tell!"

_(harry potter, finally being held accountable for actions he has taken endangering lives over the course of a few years? such a thing is unbelievable. such an assumption is also wrong.) _

"According to the Boy Who Lived himself, he called upon a patronus in front of a muggle to ward off Dementors who had approached him and were trying to attack. Our benevolent Headmaster took it upon himself to defend poor little Gryffindor, despite this being – apparently – his third offence of underage magic whilst in front of muggles!" Daphne eagerly reveals, eyes wide and bright. Hands laying flat on the table, Daphne continues, "Our esteemed Minister couldn't hide any of the news from the press, and managed make fifth-page news for his – and I quote here – 'disgusting behaviour that came from being ruled by his own subjective feelings'. Rumours have it that there are others vying for the position of Minister and it's likely one of them will win before three years have passed."

"Was it really such terrible behaviour?" Blaise asks, shifting back and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I understand full well it's fifth-page news because Potter took up the earlier pages, but if I am recalling events correctly, it's not as if the courtroom is known for their objective opinions, is it?"

Sighing, and flicking her hair over her shoulder, Tracey complains, "You're missing the point, Blaise_."_ The boy in question rolls his eyes, dismissing Tracey drawing out the vowels in his name and mispronouncing it terribly. "Fudge's bias ruling and authority has, not only been commented on, but has actually undermined him. Potter's political clout, his reputation only, now can undermine Fudge's position even if Potter didn't actually want to."

"Your society is awfully backwards," Blaise replies. "Honestly, I thought fair trials were a common thing in our world. Considering we're not like muggles with their oppressive ways and little thought of justice."

Flapping her hand, Daphne dismisses Blaise's statement. "This is your society too," is all she says to address the issue. "Now, due to the trial's publicity, it becomes common knowledge that the Ministry attempted to hide the news of the Dementors not being under Ministry control. Well, everyone simply has assumed that it was a rogue Dementor, which is the story that the Ministry are claiming to be true."

"Nonetheless," Tracey continues for Daphne, "this has raised fears regarding whether or not Dementors are viable guards for Azkaban. Minister Eldritch Diggory and his old campaign has been brought back."

"Eldritch Diggory?" Blaise echoes with a frown. "Minister back in the 1700s, wasn't he? He managed to get himself re-elected for Minister and became well-known for…"

"For campaigning to have the Dementors removed from Azkaban due to the fact they were created by Dark Magic and that Lethifolds were manipulated and experimented on to create the Dementors by Ekrizdis," Daphne hurriedly explains. "You know that, Blaise."'

"Yes, and I'm tired," Blaise says, barely stopping himself from snapping at his friends. "You know that I don't do well on little sleep."

"You used to," Tracey comments, eyes flicking to Daphne and then back to Blaise. "But years ago, we all managed to stay up late and not find ourselves exhausted. Anyway, the campaign was led by old Minister Eldritch Diggory, but was given strength by the committee formed for it. The committee went around attempting to propose alternative solutions in regards to the Dementors, including removing the Dementors from Azkaban. However, they faced tremendous opposition as people feared that the creatures would invade the mainland. Did I get that right?"

"Italy doesn't have to deal with this," Blaise says, a teasing smile on his face. "You people and your problems."

"Like Italy doesn't have its own issues," Daphne replies, tone warring between laughter and anger. "Back to today, rather than two centuries ago. Dumbledore's previous advocation that the Dementors were untrustworthy meant that many wizards, who'd been worried about the Dementors previously, supported the committee along with the Headmaster's own supporters – you know the ones. An Act was put forward in Wizengamot to remove the creatures from Azkaban and find a way to destroy them. Even though the Act didn't garner enough support to pass and was ignored, the committee continued to have articles in newspapers for the following week!"

"The Wizengamot seems to be rather active these past holidays," Blaise comments. "Let me guess – there's more going on."

"The politics are definitely fighting for power," Tracey confirms with a nod. "Rita Skeeter has been outright criticising Potter and the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts. As such, those preferring them have become dissatisfied with the Daily Prophet, now being overcritical of it. Others, on the other hand, are agreeing with the propaganda in the Daily Prophet – oh, don't roll your eyes at me Daphne, you know it's propaganda too! – disbelieve Potter and old Dumbledore, and have come to trust the Ministry intimately."

"The Daily Prophet is only utter rubbish and propaganda for those without brains," Daphne retorts, nose in the air. "We all know this, just because we are of superior… superior…" She casts a wild look about. "Damn Merlin's beard, I've forgotten the word!"

"Intelligence, perhaps?" Tracey offers, smiling.

Daphne nods. "Yes. That. As I was saying, just because we are of superior intelligence, we know the truth. Oh, I really did lose it, didn't I?" Blaise, too busy smothering laughter, waves his hand and Tracey smirks. "Well, moving on then. As we mentioned earlier, our current Minister has lost a lot of power and authority, especially in the Wizengamot, often his every action is being criticised. I bet there'll be a new Minister sooner than everyone else expects."

"Even with Skeeter's criticism of Potter and Dumbledore, there's been a major fall of belief in the Minister's government. By attempting to persecute the Boy Who Lived Twice – a major public figure and loved by_ everyone_ – there's been a huge surge of distrust in the Minister. Such a bad mistake has even Slytherins recoiling away. No one wants to be caught up with the Minister when he finally falls from grace," Tracey says.

"You won't believe what group also resurfaced!" Daphne adds, leaning forward, a tap on the table stopping Tracey from spoiling it all.

Leaning closer in response, Blaise uncrosses his arms and lays hands flat on the table. "Let me guess – with Potter claiming the Dark Lord is back, the Order of the Phoenix has reopened their wings?"

Daphne flops back, sighing. "You knew that."

"Daph," Blaise replies, "Potter is claiming the Dark Lord's back and Dumbledore is backing him up; it'd be a surprise if an old war group didn't arise."

Pursing her lips, Daphne clicks her tongue. "I suppose. It does mean all the allegiances are being reconsolidated and so forth. I've gone to so many parties, you would not believe. Malfoy Senior has made more appearances at parties and functions over these holidays as well."

"Some worry in the Pureblood society?" Tracey asks, cracking a grin. "We know you're with us, Daph. Don't worry your pretty little head over it." Daphne rolls her eyes, but the smile she sends Tracey's way is content.

Deciding to turn the news away from gossip, Blaise brings the others' attention to the newest addition to Hogwarts. "What do you think of Professor Umbridge? I'm assuming she's aiming for more power due to the Ministry's loss of power, thinking she can pander to the students' wishes and have more Purebloods on her side."

Chuckling, Tracey says, "I think it'll work out more for us than it will for her. I haven't actually heard of her, though. Daph?"

"She attempted to get some anti-werewolf legislation through the Wizengamot, but it quickly failed," Daphne replies slowly, eyes staring dully at the ceiling as she thinks. "She's somewhat important as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic."

Blaise lets out a low whistle. "She's essentially second-in-command of the Ministry then, only really answerable to the Minister. I think I've heard of her briefly. She was described as 'spectacular with her words and her actions; the witch has intelligence and deserves every eye to be on her' in the Daily Prophet."

"She's known for her intelligence and political savviness," Daphne confirms. "The Minister trusts her to carry out his will, and I bet you ten galleons that the Minister thinks he's infiltrating Hogwarts, when really the Headmaster is positioning Umbridge to be out of the way!"

"Bad bet," Tracey says. "I might not know this Umbridge woman, but I'm willing to bet my chocolate frog card collection that she thinks she's in control and she's not. You heard that speech she said earlier, didn't you?"

"Guess we'll find out in our first class with her," Blaise says, masking a yawn with one hand.

"Anything happen overseas Blaise?" Daphne asks. "Surely something interesting must have happened in Italy, or wherever you were this time. It was Italy, wasn't it?"

Blaise inclines his head, "Yes, we went back to Italy again. We didn't do much," he says. Hands clasped in his lap, he rubs the signet ring. He's aware the other two can't see it, and as such don't understand why his lips tilt upwards. The ring declares him friend, family, and ally of the House of Savoy; he had earned it only on his last trip in Italy due to his position as potential heir to the Zabini family. "Not much happened, as I'm still underage there. However, I do have to go back for Samhain."

"You're missing your birthday?" Daphne says, aghast. "When do you come back? Do we get to celebrate with you that week at all?"

"No, unfortunately, and I can't very well not go."

"This is terrible, Blaise, we're going to have to celebrate the following weekend! Only you would have the luck of disappearing from Hogwarts during Samhain, when they have those blasted muggle decorations up. Honestly, they've forgotten where our origins lie!"

"You know what I could really do without this year, Blaise?" Tracey asks, completely ignoring Daphne's outburst. Blaise raises an eyebrow. "A rant on why Samhain and Halloween are two different celebrations, one that is a distinctive magical celebration and the other, which remains a perverted and warped celebration for muggles of what once was. I feel like we don't need such a thing to occur on a yearly basis for five years. Don't you?"

Laughing, Blaise says, "I, for one, was all up for finding a way to silence such a rant, but you said such use of magic was a terrible waste. You sure you're not warming up to the idea?"

"Guys," Daphne says, rolling her eyes and standing up with a huff. "If that's how you're going to be, I will see you tomorrow morn."

Hiding yet another yawn, Blaise stands up, stretching his arms towards the charmed lights. "Perhaps we all best be heading off to bed, I'm sure we're all tired. Besides, it's back to a school timetable. No more sleep-ins, _Tracey_."

"You do something once, and no one ever lets it go," Tracey bemoans to no one in particular. "But yes, good idea, I'm beat. Night Blaise."

"Night Tracey. Night Daph," Blaise replies, giving the pair a wave as he turns towards his own dorms. After separating from the pair, it's only a few metres he has to traverse before he's entering his own dorm. Unlike some of the other years, there are only two dorms for the Slytherin fifth years – one for females and ones for males. Still, Blaise isn't too surprised that there are only two dorms. After all, the fifth year Slytherin group is rather small – only twelve or so.

The door is dark with a silver five on it, and Blaise takes a second to appreciate the shining silver number – swapped with last year's four. As always, the door opens silently, swinging inward on quiet hinges.

Despite growing up around magic all his life, it never fails to amaze him how the dorm appears so small from the outside. There's some charm on the room that makes it much larger on the inside, although Blaise doesn't know what charm it is. Sans the new number on the door, the room is the same as it always is. Leaf green curtains hang from four-poster beds, each with ebony framework. The left-hand side of each bed has an ebony-wood beside table, with a trunk at the end of each bed. Opposite Blaise, the far wall is all glass giving a murky view into the lake.

"Zabini," Draco greets shortly, a downward twist of his lips is the only sign of his discontentment.

"Good evening, Malfoy," Blaise returns as he sits down on his bed – opposite Draco's own bed and caught between Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, both respectable wizards in their own right, both connected at the hip. "Is there reason to be concerned over something?" Raising an eyebrow, Blaise clearly questions the Pureblood's current predicament.

"Professor Snape hasn't designated anyone with the Quidditch Slytherin Captain," Draco says with a quick glance sideways as he crosses his arms. "Can you believe it? This means there's no Quidditch practice or trials organised just yet. Moreover, we don't even have a team currently!"

"And if there's no Captain, there's no trials to create a team," Theodore Nott adds from the bed beside Draco.

Nodding in understanding, Blaise thinks back to Quidditch over the past few years. Obviously, there'd been no Slytherin Quidditch team last year due to the Triwizard Tournament, and no one had worried about creating one. The previous year – their third year – had Marcus Flint as Quidditch Captain, and had also been the year there'd been no one really wanting to play; aside from Draco. The result had been that Flint had a team that were more or less forced into playing – hence why Gregory and Vincent had joined.

"It's not fair that just because of some stupid Tournament last year that there's no Quidditch this year. My father will–"

An abrupt silence falls as Draco cuts himself off, a familiar saying trailing off. It's a phrase Blaise has heard often at Hogwarts, and it makes him uneasy to hear his peer cut himself off. Malfoy Senior likely can't help Draco in Hogwarts or has his hands full – one or the other.

_(slytherins look for opportunities and strike as quick as a snake.)_

As a member of the Zabini family, Blaise is well aware of his family's business attempting to expand in the United Kingdom in a bid to expand internationally. If Blaise attempts to rectify the problem with the inter-school Quidditch competitions, Draco will be in debt to him, and thus owe Blaise a favour. Favours are valuable – especially if one holds onto them for long enough.

There's no clear end to the conversation – but Gregory and Vincent return from the bathroom, toothbrushes in hand, and so Blaise collects his own toiletries and heads towards the bathroom. Someone shoulders past him into the shower, and – frowning – Blaise catches a glimpse of blonde hair before one of the three shower doors shut. Unusual, yes, but he wouldn't be surprised if this whole school year goes rather unusually. Besides, showers are an easy place to hide in and ignore all façades and masks.

Brushing his teeth, Blaise considers what he knows. Professor Snape is unlikely to do anything, instead leaving it to the students, which means it's probable that Slytherin will end up with a very similar team to the one from two years ago. A team that would easily lose any of the Quidditch competitions this year. Maybe they would be able to win one game, potentially two, but against the powerhouse Gryffindor Quidditch team? They'll lose.

If they want to have a chance this year, someone will have to step up and organise everything. It would be a lot of work, and possibly ruin the reputation that Blaise has been carefully cultivating for years. Nonetheless, Blaise's position in Slytherin is lower on the hierarchy, given to him only for his Pureblood heritage and well-maintained grades. Whilst it may not be a good position, it's very much what he has been working towards – underestimated, overlooked, and not used for power plays. Despite such a position, the chance of it changing – even ignoring any Quidditch issues – is high, if only because of Blaise's upcoming sixteenth birthday and the position of Lord hovering over his head.

Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, Blaise catches his own gaze in the mirror, dark eyes on a dark face. "Guess I'll be stepping up this year," he says softly, a smirk on his face. The mirror doesn't reply, but his reflection does wink.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Not sure how the updating schedule will be for this. Currently, it'll just be sparodic until I've actually completed writing the entire thing probably. I haven't written anything more since ages back, so there's only five chapters of this currently written (but I have the whole book plotted, which is better than nothing). **_

* * *

"Mister Zabini, Miss Li, and Mister Thomas, please stay behind for a few minutes." Blaise frowns down at the bowtruckle hanging from one of his fingers. With sharp fingers, the green creature pulls itself up to sit back on his hand, making noises at the Slytherin student. The other Slytherin students walk away, a small group of them chattering away, without a backwards glance.

_(you can't afford to show worry.)_

"Off please," Blaise whispers quietly to the bowtruckle, holding his hand next to the small sprout. The bowtruckle blows a raspberry at him and hops off, quickly joining others of their kind. Having dealt with that, Blaise wanders over to Professor Grubby-Plank, standing beside a Ravenclaw student.

Professor Grubby-Plank fixes all three students with a stern gaze, the expression a vast difference from her usual cheery nature. "Now, as I'm sure all three of you are well aware, Care of Magical Creatures is a very dangerous class," she begins. Remembering his first class, filled with screams and tears and the smell of blood saturating the air, Blaise can do nothing but give a short nod in agreement. "This year, we've decided to have assistants for the third-years taking Care of Magical Creatures. I've spoken with your Heads of House and they have agreed to let you three be my assistants in Care of Magical Creatures, so long as you are willing to, of course."

"Of course!" Thomas echoes excitedly, a grin on his face. A glance at the other boy tells Blaise all he needs to know. Thomas is a Gryffindor, likely a friend of Potter's and therefore believes Dumbledore, and so will be against Blaise on the basis that he is a Slytherin. It almost makes the entire thing not worth it.

"I'll help Professor," Li says with a nod. "It'll be a good review for future exams and a refresher for information on past years."

All three turn to face Blaise, who crosses his arms, lips dipping downward. "Very well," he states. "I, too, will help with the third years."

"Doubt you could have sounded more thrilled," Thomas retorts dryly, leaving Blaise unsure how to respond – whether the phrase is a joke or an insult.

"No in-fighting you lot," Professor Grubby-Plank chides, allowing Blaise to refrain from answering the Gryffindor. "An owl will be along with your new timetable tomorrow morning. Enjoy your afternoon, and remember, I still expect that homework due!"

"Bye Professor!" Li chirps, and turns around, heading back towards the castle with her robes flowing behind her. Thomas takes two steps and easily catches up, his height enabling him to keep an easy pace with Li as she powerwalks back.

Sighing, Blaise slips his hands into his pockets and follows after them. He's meeting Tracey and Daphne in the trophy room to look for the last win of the Slytherin's Quidditch team. The pair had – thankfully – agreed to come with him, meaning that he won't have to worry about glancing over his shoulder every fifth or so second. Having been held back already by Professor Grubby-Plank, Blaise jogs throw empty hallways, footsteps echoing loudly against the stone bricks. The size of Hogwarts means he's unlikely to encounter any other students, but to try and ensure that, he takes the rarely-used corridors rather than the main ones.

He's panting when he reaches the trophy room, cursing Hogwarts' massive size under his breath. Tracey and Daphne are already there, and giving him similar judging looks as he straightens up. "Got held back," he explains, waving his hand, as he continues to bend over, hands on his knees. Straightening up with an inhale, he looks around.

It's easy to spot the Quidditch cabinet, the golden snitch resting over the top of it is a fairly obvious sign. "We're looking for the cup for 1989-1990," Tracey says. "We were on a winning streak until Potter, naturally."

"Naturally," Daphne echoes, annoyance clear in her voice as it is in the sharp sweep of her wand as she rids the room of dust. "Found it yet, Blaise?"

Another moment of searching passes, and then Blaise nods. "Matias Rosier," he reads. "They were Quidditch Captain that year and the year previous. He was a chaser and a seventh year."

"He plays, still," Tracey says. "Montrose Magpies, if I'm getting my teams right. There was an outcry when he was put into a game six months after joining. He played a good game – still a chaser."

Clapping her hands, Daphne shares her grin with her friends. "Perfect! Blaise, you can owl him now – Ankaa can find him, right?"

"Someone in the United Kingdom with a name and a team location? Easily," Blaise replies. "I'm going to write the letter now, see you at dinner?"

"Yes, because some of us have homework," Daphne says. "I can't believe you're already delaying your work." Turning around, she heads out of the room. Meanwhile, Tracey catches Blaise's eye and winks, giving him a thumbs up.

A hand over his mouth smothers his laughter, and only once he's sure Daphne's out of hearing range, he lets it out ring out in the empty room. Now aware that Daphne is planning to complete homework and Tracey is going to ensure that doesn't happen, he takes the nearest stairs to the next floor and finds his way to the owlery.

As always seems the case whenever he comes, the owlery is empty of people. Taking a seat at the sole wooden desk, Blaise opens his bag and pulls out an ink bottle, a quill, an envelope, and a piece of parchment.

Ignoring the owl noises overhead, Blaise starts writing a message, careful to ensure his handwriting remains legible and stressing the connection between him and Rosier – that they are both Slytherin students. Once he's done, he folds the parchment into thirds and places it into the envelope. He stands up. A bird swoops down and lands on his shoulder, talons sharp, body heavy.

Regardless of the danger he's in, Blaise smiles and the Eurasian eagle-owl chirps softly and picks at his hair with her beak. "Here's a message for you Ankaa dearest," Blaise says, passing the bird the letter. The owl takes cautious hold of the letter in one foot. "To Matias Rosier at the Montrose Magpies training ground. Think you can manage that?"

The bird launches off his shoulder with a screech, and Blaise chuckles, watching as his owl circles higher before gliding out of one of the many windows. He wonders what will come of his message and whether they'll be a response.

He wonders whether everything will work out in the end.

* * *

**_Matias Rosier,_**

**_I am do not know whether or not you get fan mail, and although I am sure you do have fame to call your own, I am afraid that this is no simple message from a fan. I could not honestly call myself a fan, but this is not meant to be a letter of a threatening nature either. Rather, I find myself in need of someone with superior Quidditch knowledge as well as knowledge on leading a Quidditch team and choosing members to form a team. Whilst I do not know much about your position within your team – excluding your position as a chaser, of course – and can only claim that I know about the commotion that arose after you had participated in your first official game, I do know you have the knowledge and expertise I find myself in need of. _**

**_Currently, I am a fifth year Slytherin student in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Due to the Triwizard Tournament, and our Quidditch team the previous year (many of which were forced into helping form a team), our esteemed house finds ourselves without a Quidditch Captain. _**

**_If you are unaware, Professor Severus Snape remains the Head of Slytherin still, and has maintained an unhealthy distance from Quidditch for as long as I have been a member of Hogwarts. No one expects him to organise Quidditch trials or practices, and due to being without a Quidditch Captain, it appears that Slytherin will – for the fifth year in a row – lose the Quidditch House Cup, along with all three games. Aside from our seeker of three years, we are without a team. Unfortunately, our seeker has their hands full and is unable to do anything about creating a Quidditch team._**

**_Thus, I find myself in the strange position where I am capable of stepping forward to help create a Quidditch team and motivate Slytherin to win the Quidditch House Cup for the first year since your graduation. I do know the rules of Quidditch and so forth, and can create game strategies as well as tactics. However, regardless of my ability to organise Quidditch trials, I will be unable to understand what each position demands – what skills and abilities I should be looking for in selected team members. I am certain there are members of Slytherin who would be willing to form a Quidditch team and only await the moment to step forward. _**

**_I do not desire a position on the team myself, and if I were choosing members for the team such a thing would be widely regarded as claiming a position I have not earned and tricked my way into. Already, I can hear the accusations of unfairness and deception – such things would pressurise Slytherin and force sides, separating a house that needs not be separated. Hence, I will not be trying out, but your help is required. _**

**_Rest assured, I can fully understand that you may be busy and have little time to answer, and littler wish to respond. Your help, though, would be happily received and accepted. Slytherin desires to regain our previous splendour and skills – it is time they stopped calling us cheaters and time they saw our abilities, don't you agree?_**

**_From, _**

**_Blaise Zabini  
_**_Heir of the Zabini Family  
Member of the Slytherin House  
Hogwarts Student 1991-1999_

* * *

Every year entering the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom is a surprise. Whilst the layout of the classroom doesn't change much, always containing the same wooden desks and chairs, with blackboards at the front beside the teacher's desk, there always seems to be some slight variation between the years. They aren't the first year to have the class, and have already heard of Umbridge's strict approach to class. Regardless, gossip is easily exaggerated and easily twisted. The Slytherins know better than to believe what they have heard. Naturally, they are cautious, but not overly so.

Umbridge is there before the first student arrives, sitting at her desk and watching them with dark eyes. Blaise takes a seat on the side closest to the door, in the middle. Tracey and Daphne take up seats beside him, conversation falling silent due to the tense atmosphere of the room.

Looking around, Blaise notices not many changes have occurred to the classroom this year. There's a photograph frame on the desk, back facing him, and any of the portraits or skeletons that once decorated the room have apparently been moved elsewhere. It reminds him, if only just, of Professor Snape's potion classroom – a place of danger. Except, where the potion classroom feels like it has danger written into the stonework, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom seems to hide it behind a polite veneer. Blaise wonders if the other Slytherin students feels the same way – he imagines they do.

A Ravenclaw rushes into the classroom, seconds before they are officially late, and plant themselves on the nearest available seat – directly in front of Umbridge. "Good morning, students!" Umbridge chirps, offering her class a smile as she stands, moving to the centre of the classroom. She receives a murmured and muffled reply. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat yourselves a little louder?"

There's a brief pause as students exchange disbelieving looks. A professor has never acted in such a way, still, they respond as Umbridge has asked. "Good morning, Professor Umbridge," comes the reply, a little mumbled in places, but clearly heard. It seems as if everyone had spoken.

"Perfect!" The woman trills. "Now, due to some previous misunderstandings, I'm electing to share the rules of my class now and my expectations of all of you. Firstly, when I say something, I expect a direct answer, as all of you just did perfectly. Secondly, there is to be no wand-waving in this class. In fact, I don't want to see your wand in your hand or out of your bag. It is to remain there at all times. Thirdly, if you–"

"But Professor Umbridge, how are we expected to practice if we can't use our wands?" One of the Ravenclaws asks loudly.

"That's five points from Ravenclaw," their professor snaps out. "If I am interrupted again, that number will increase and I will give out a detention." The Ravenclaw nods meekly. "Good. Now, as I was saying, if you have a question you must place your hand in the air. I expect all of you to behave as students of Hogwarts and be on your best behaviour. Anyone who disrupts the class or causes issues will not only lose house points but also have a detention with me. Questions?"

Daphne raises her hand. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"Based on what you've said thus far, Professor Umbridge, I was wondering when we will be practising our spells before our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L?" Daphne asks, giving Umbridge a small smile.

"You will be fine completing your O.W.L without needing to practise the spell beforehand," Umbridge responds, with a sickly-sweet tone. Blaise frowns. "Especially if you've done your classwork correctly. Now, if that will be all class," she continues, ignoring other hands that have risen due to her answer. "Turn your attention to your prescribed textbook. You will be reading the first chapter and then writing out the answers to the questions on the board. I am expected two paragraphs per answer. This class does not require any conversation with your neighbours. If you have a question, put your hand up and I will come around. Get to work, class!"

Still frowning, Blaise pulls out his textbook, along with a single sheet of parchment, an ink bottle, and a quill. It already appears that this Defence Against the Dark Arts class will be worse than any other year. Merlin forbid Hogwarts has a sensible and largely harmless professor teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sighing, he presses his fingers to the cover of his textbook, opens it, and starts reading. It's going to be a long hour.

* * *

**_Blaise Zabini,_**

**_I must say, your letter caught me off-guard. During my time with the Montrose Magpies thus far, there has been little fan mail – and never a request asking for help with a school matter. I find myself partially bewildered by the fact you are asking for my help, but still – I will answer the best I can. After all, we are both Slytherins despite the fact I have graduated from Hogwarts some years ago. _**

**_It will be difficult to explain everything without being able to show you, but I will do my best. Bear with me. _**

**_The first thing you must realise is that you need to hold trials as quickly as possible. The longer you wait to hold trials, the less practise your team will have, which will impact your players' abilities both personally and their ability to work as a team – something that is vital when playing a team sport. The seeker is only partially exempt from this. _**

**_For trials, you should have different trials for each position. Each trial should be testing certain aspects of a player. I have succinctly listed my advice below. _**

**_Seekers are, by far, the hardest to find but the easiest to test. Obviously, seekers need to be rather fast with quick reflexes and the ability to spot the snitch from across the field. With having good reflexes, comes good agility. Speed is easy to test, but reflexes and good eyesight is harder to test. Small round objects, such as golf balls, can be used to test a person's reflexes – try to have someone catch them all before they hit the ground or have them charmed. Eyesight can be tested by setting up mirrors glinting on the ground and telling your tryout seekers to find them. You mentioned you already had a seeker, but I recommend having a secondary seeker and ensuring your primary seeker is the best seeker in your house. There is no point having a good team and a bad seeker. Seekers play a very important role._**

**_Keepers need to be fit, and also have good reflexes. Their speed and balance should be tested. Since they are the back of the field, they can see the field fairly clearly and provide strategies – and warnings – to other players. A quick thinker would be helpful for a keeper position. Fitness and speed are easy to test, and any half-good Quidditch player has an excellent sense of balance. Simply have tryout chasers attempt to score goals with a tryout keeper stopping them – it'll be a good test for both positions. _**

**_Speaking of chasers, they need to be fast and agile – after all, they need to be able to avoid bludgers. Chasers should be able to take stock of situations quickly so they can quickly see who to pass to and where not to pass. Teamwork amongst the three chasers is a must-have. Not to mention, chasers need to have good aim to throw the quaffle. Much of the trials for chasers will be simply having them work against one another and with their keepers along with small warm-up activities – such as weaving, which is an excellent method of testing agility and speed combined. _**

**_The last position left is the one played by beaters. Obviously, beaters need to be strong and have good aim – most people know this, even those who aren't Quidditch fans. However, what often goes unacknowledged is that beaters need to be fast. After all, they need to move quickly so that they can get into a position where they are able to stop bludgers from hitting their teammates. Moreover, hitting a bludger may require the bat to be held with both hands – so, once again, balance is vital along with control over a broom with just their legs and position. _**

**_Remember, above all else, skill can be taught, but it does help to have the basics already there. Feel free to reveal the results of your tryouts, I am interested in how it all goes. Best of luck. _**

**_From,_**

**_Matias Rosier  
_**_ Member of the Rosier Family  
Slytherin _

* * *

A list of names in one hand, quill in the other, and from the Quidditch stands, Blaise continues to scrawl notes as the current group of chasers attempt to score a goal. They've finished the seeker and beater tryouts, and this is the final group of chasers and there are only two more keepers left to tryout. So far, trials have gone reasonably well, with no Slytherins challenging his authority or questioning him. He hasn't even faced any problems after putting the message up on the bulletin board in the Slytherin common room. It's interesting, to say the least.

Tucking the quill behind his ear, Blaise heads down the stands onto the Quidditch ground itself. Many of the people trying out had gone into the castle, promising to come back to hear the final decision for the team. A few have remained, sitting in the stands with robes over flying outfits, bundled up in scarfs and gloves – recovering from the chill of flying.

The six chasers and two keepers land once Blaise's foot hits the grass of the pitch. Dismissing them with a nod, Blaise turns to the final two keepers who swap gloves with the previous ones who had just tried out. There's a rough group of Quidditch players left – enough to pick six decent chasers from, though. "Anyone willing to help me out and play chaser for these two?"

Meeting Daphne's gaze, Blaise holds it, causing the other student to sigh and stand up, heading over towards the broomsticks. Two others follow Daphne's lead – both are students, one is younger than Blaise and the other older, but that's all he knows of them.

"Zabini, tryout for chaser," one of the older students calls out, causing Blaise to narrow his eyes. "Yes, we know you're doing all this," he continues, waving his hand in an effort to encompass exactly what 'this' entitled. "But you might as well tryout, and we need three other chasers."

A survey of the people in front of him tells Blaise that he's not got much of a choice. "Malfoy and Carrow, you both can keep watch and comment on everything," he says decisively, pulling out a new piece of parchment and handing it over. With that done, he places everything else in his bag and slips on a pair of fingerless gloves that he'd brought with him in case it got cold. "Pucey, Travers, you're helping out as well." The pair stand up and following Blaise over to the pile of brooms.

Selecting one of the newer and more well-maintained Cleansweeps, Blaise quickly mounts the broom and kicks off. He hovers a metre above the ground, getting a feeling of the broom. It wavers to the left a bit, but otherwise doesn't seem to have too many issues. He rises, glancing at the other fliers around him. They've automatically shifted into teams, with Travers and Pucey on Blaise's side, versing the other three. Settling into a circle, they all look down, watching as someone – he thinks it's Warrington, but Blaise isn't sure – gets ready to throw the quaffle into the air.

It soars high, directly upward, and then the fliers move. In a mass of movement, everyone surges forward, and Blaise moves in the opposite direction, back to his own keeper. Someone finally grasps the quaffle and rises above the bunched group.

"Travers!" Blaise calls out, and they throw the quaffle at him. Catching it in one hand, Blaise whips around the group. He's quick, but not fast enough and one of the opposing chasers stop in front of him.

It's easy, with the broom still trying to pull left, to complete a barrel roll. Head spinning, he catches his name being shouted and sees Pucey. The quaffle flies straight after Blaise throws it, and once again Blaise sets his broom moving.

Pucey passes to Travers who attempts to score a goal, but is blocked by the keeper. The keeper catches it with both hands, wobbling on their broomstick, and hurriedly throws it to Daphne, quickly grabbing their broomstick with both hands just in time to avoid falling off.

Pucey and Travers both try to catch up to Daphne, who takes off, streaking across the pitch. Spinning his broom around, Blaise gets a head start, checking behind him every so often to see how Daphne is travelling. Both of his teammates are closing on her, and there's a small glance sideways from Daphne, and then she's throwing the quaffle.

However, having caught Daphne's glance, Blaise manages to grab the quaffle in one hand, intercepting the throw. Both of his teammates are occupied, even as they already move, so rather than throwing the ball to them or keeping it himself, Blaise tosses it backwards to his keeper.

They catch it, and then the quaffle flies over Blaise's head and lands safely in Travers' hands. They pass it to Pucey who takes it towards the goals, zig-zagging to keep the others off of his tail. Approaching the goals, Pucey feints a throw, passing it to Blaise, who catches it in both hands and then aims at a goal with one hand. The keeper fails to block this goal, and it goes in. Rather than the game resetting as normal, they play on, the keeper retrieving the quaffle and fumbling an overhead throw to Daphne's teammate – Higgs, Blaise thinks – who avoids Travers with a spin, and then passes the quaffle back to Daphne.

Urging his broom forward, Blaise gains altitude rather than focussing on catching the opposing chasers, all too aware of the fact they are too far to catch with his Cleansweep. Ignoring the high-fives exchanged when Daphne's team scores a goal.

Thankfully, Blaise's keeper spots him and sends an overhead pass. A third of the pitch down, Blaise catches it and heads towards the other end of the pitch. Somewhere behind and below him, Pucey and Travers follow, crossing the flightpaths of the other chasers to make them check themselves. With only a third of the pitch to go, Blaise is finally overtaken. In this moment, he tilts his broom down, gaining speed through the dive. It's what enables him to just pass Shafiq – or, at least, he hopes that's her name – and throw the quaffle at the goals. This time, the keeper defends successfully, batting the quaffle away with the end of his broomstick. However, it's a terrible hit, and the quaffle immediately heads towards the ground.

A whistle blows just as Travers catches the quaffle, and Blaise turns his broom around and heads towards the ground where Carrow waits, wand in hand. The eight of them land, Travers still holding the quaffle in their hand.

"Everyone's starting to arrive to hear your decision," Carrow concludes. "You grab the parchment off of Malfoy, and I'll put everything away for you."

Handing his broomstick over, Blaise thanks his fellow student and heads over to Draco, grabbing his bag when he passes it. In his head, he already has the main team and the majority of the reserve team. He's just not sure who the third chaser should be for the reserve team, since no one really stuck out.

"Put yourself in for a reserve chaser," Draco says quietly as he gives Blaise the paper. "You've probably got a good idea for the two teams, but you're a solid chaser and your tactics are sound. You organised this, now stick with it."

Taking hold of the parchment in numb fingers, Blaise raises an eyebrow. "Do you not want to be Quidditch Captain? You were the obvious choice having been in the team the longest."

Frowning, Draco shakes his head. "Not this year," he replies. "More to the point, you took the initiative here. No one will call out your claim if you make one."

"We'll see," Blaise counters doubtfully, turning his gaze to the Quidditch stand that's filling as Slytherins – those who tried out and those who didn't, all wanting to find out who made the team. As he faces the group, they quiet quickly. "As many of you know, there will be two teams – the main team and the reserve team. On the main team as seeker we have Draco Malfoy, keeper is Millicent Bulstrode, beaters are Cassius Warrington and Hestia Carrow, and the three chasers are Terrence Higgs, Daphne Greengrass, and Mafalda Acerbi." He pauses, letting that sink in. No one seems extremely upset, but there are a few disgruntled faces in the crowd. "On the reserve team, we have Praveena Vaisey as seeker, Theodore Nott as keeper, Adrian Pucey and Ali Travers as beaters, and Hayato Harper, Zulekha Shafiq and… myself, apparently, as the chasers for the reserve team. Thank you everyone who tried out and everyone who cheered – this year is Slytherin's!"

There's a half-hearted cheer from the crowd, as everyone quickly turns back towards the castle, clearly cold. Meanwhile, Blaise's chosen Quidditch team gather around him. "We might as well get this Quidditch Captain problem out of the way," he says, "so I don't have to figure out practices. The oldest of us is going to be the team captain. Everyone happy with that?"

"As the eldest of us," Travers replies, "I veto this idea and raise the suggestion that Zabini is our captain due to everything he's managed despite not being a Quidditch fan, apparently."

Warrington grunts in agreement, and Pucey offers Blaise a cheerful thumbs up. Without giving Blaise a second to respond, Draco claps his hands. "Now that that's decided, can we go inside? It's cold out here."

"Everyone grabs two brooms then," Blaise orders. "Yes, Malfoy, I know you have your own – grab one of the ball kits. Warrington, can you grab the other? Thanks. I'll figure out a practise schedule for us and let you know – I'll even tell Professor Snape what happened today. Alright, yeah, let's get inside now."


End file.
